Page 24 of The Prince's Captive

She had plenty of time to mull it over after Commander Gavril once again practically threw her onto his horse instead of handing the responsibility of her off to someone else. She thought it over as the forest kept flying by. Maybe he was some kind of prodigy?

But even so, that didn’t explain why he would be the commander on a mission of such importance. He’d been sent to capture Hypatia. A demon, as they called her. If they knew anything about Hypatia, then they would know they could only afford to send their best. Why risk putting the mission in an untested prodigy’s hands instead of just having him as the second if he was truly that skilled?

There was also a distance between him and the other men. Of course, he was their commanding officer, so that made sense. But he ordered them about so easily for someone who seemed to be younger than most of the men under his command.

Was that something they taught all their commanders?

He commanded them so easily, with no hesitation, at least in the displays she had seen, leaving no room for argument.

The man who had the runes placed on his neck, silencing him, had been placed in the advance group that rode ahead. The brief moment she’d seen him that morning, everyone had given him a wide berth and when they did so, they glanced around to see if Commander Gavril saw it.

She spotted the older commander being less formal and having more casual conversations and laughing with the men in a way she didn’t see with Commander Gavril. There just… was an air that seemed to follow him and control every interaction he had with the other Inimicus. It reminded her of the way Hypatia had interacted with the rest of the clan.

It wasn’t necessarily rude or demeaning, just stiff and the rest of them were hyperaware of Hypatia’s standing and influence and power that followed her commands as the future leader of their clan.

Maybe he was from some particularly influential Inimicus family. They had their own groups called Houses, if she was remembering her lessons accurately. She rarely did though, so she couldn’t be certain.

The days that followed held the same routine. In the mornings, they would ride hard, at noon there would be a short break, then afternoons they would continue until they reached the camp the advanced group had already begun setting up. Commander Gavril was always the one who made her ride with him and then he would pull her off his horse, find a spot in the center of the camp where someone would always have an eye on her, and sit her down while he dealt with the practical matters of the camp until they were set for the night. Then he would bring her rations and sit beside her as they ate.

She supposed that was when he did his real work.

The second night after he sat beside her and they went through the ritual of him eating and drinking first to prove it wasn’t drugged, he said in her tongue, “Your promised… was he…”

He gestured with his hand for a moment and Marcella eyed him. What he could possibly be trying to get at and why?

She didn’t really know what Hypatia had felt about the engagement to Konstantin of Montis. It hadn’t mattered. He was the heir to his clan, but everyone knew his father’s health was declining so Konstantin and his cousin were making most of the decisions and doing the work. The marriage alliance had been his idea. Other than that, the few occasions Marcella had caught glimpses of Konstantin while visiting Desero’s estate arranging the details, he was a quiet, diligent young man. He had the strange way of somehow always looking alone despite being surrounded by his own people.

Marcella imagined she was only able to recognize it because it was so familiar to her.

Frankly? Hypatia was going to eat him alive.

“The arrangement…” he tried again. “Happy or…” He held up his hand and rubbed his fingers together like one would coins.

Marcella wanted to laugh, but bit her tongue until the urge faded.

His eyes darted to the trunk carrying the Heart when he spoke. He was so transparent, trying to figure out what it was and why it had been with her.

And what an idiot. Like she was just going to divulge to him they were carrying a holy relic—the holiest of relics—with them.

Marcella stayed silent.

“Keep up and your voice will—” He made a gesture with his hand, waving up and up into the sky.

She just broke off another piece and put it into her mouth.

He shook his head and muttered again, “Contumax puella.”

And then every night he would escort her to a tent where he slept outside so that if she tried to exit it, she couldn’t without waking him up.

The third night at dinner, he said, “Pardon my speech, Hypatia. Don’t have… chance to practice often.”

Well, he wasn’t going to be practicing with her. Especially if he was going to keep putting an emphasis on Hypatia’s name that made Marcella nauseous and kept her up at night praying to Asentai for a miracle.

When she still didn’t respond, he studied her all over again.

And he kept studying her. She could feel his eyes on her often in the camp, and she made sure to hide her own studying as if she was just idly observing and the things she was seeing couldn’t possibly register in her head because there was nothing between her ears to catch it.

He was though. She would catch him every so often in the morning and at night jotting things down into a little notebook he seemed to hide away from everyone else as best he could.

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